The Angel Of Death
by Neverday
Summary: A new student has arrived, uninvited, at Hogwarts. Why does he have a black aura about him, and why does he leave mysterious deaths in his wake? Will anyone be left alive? Rated M for saftey, as it will contain gruesome content. plz rr, shud i continue?


The Angel Of Death

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DISCLAIMER: i dont own anything to do with Harry potter. BUT! but, i DO own this plotline, got that???

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Chapter .1

"Go now, now Wormtail!" rasped Voldemort through his slit-like mouth, with a tone of urgency. This in itself was a strange thing, as Voldemort preferred to take a less hurried approach. But it was coupled with the fact that his eyes were darting from side to side, while he spoke in an almost inaudible whisper, so quiet that only Wormtail, who was standing right beside the shadowy figure of the Dark Lord, was only just able to make out his words.

This, in fact, struck fear into Wormtail, as Voldemort himself, the Lord of Fear and Despair, whose mere name struck fear into the hardiest of wizards, was afraid about the task Wormtail was to perform. Wormtail dared to think that maybe, just maybe, this task was _not _as horrifying as it was made out to be, but his yet-to-be-performed actions weighed down heavily on him, and any misconceptions about the magnitude of terror incorporated within this ancient ritual were shunted out of existence. A cold, dark dread filled the bottom of Wormtails' very heart, and he knew that what Lord Voldemort was asking him to do was unimaginably evil, breaking into new realms of darkness, and would cast both Wormtail and Voldemort much further into the dark pit of the inescapable void. Wormtail physically shuddered, but, mercifully, Voldemort didn't seem to notice.

But then, just as Wormtail was about to refuse, his cowardice kicked in. he knew that if he refused to do his masters bidding, he would not be killed, but tossed aside, and tortured in ways he couldn't even begin to perceive. He had a plain choice, which was clear enough. Either accept, or be tortured, ridiculed, hated, and finally, if he was lucky, killed. All without hesitation or regret from any death eater, or even Voldemort himself. After a long pause, Wormtail reluctantly accepted, his voice hoarse and shaky. He bowed, and turned to leave, vowing never to forgive himself. Voldemort's enemies were going to die, one way, or another.

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Freshly disillusioned, Wormtail scurried down the street, being careful not to nudge into anyone or anything, as he didn't want to raise any awkward questions. He longed to be able to go about visibly, and be known under his actual name, given to him by his dear mother 49 years ago, the name Peter Pettigrew. But he destroyed that branch of reality that fateful night, the night he slew thirteen muggles with a single curse. The night his own mother refused him sanctuary in his own house. The night it killed his whole family out of rage. Wormtail shook his head to clear him of those dark thoughts, and he concentrated on the task at hand, retrieving the relics that Voldemort so badly needed.

'Filthy muggles' he thought to himself. 'They deserved it'. How could they go about their business, living their lives without knowing, respecting, fearing the dark lord? Wormtail couldn't understand it. How could someone be so oblivious to the pain and suffering Lord Voldemort had caused and would soon cause again? It sickened him. Wormtail shuddered, and ducked down through a passageway in the side of the street that lead to a long-forgotten shop. He went inside, and undid the disillusionment charm that was shrouding him from any other's vision.

The humid, musky atmosphere hit him instantly as he stepped through the arched doorway. He trod lightly, and padded his way to the back of the shop. He knew where he should step if he was to remain unnoticed, as he had already done reconnaissance of the area.

He silently found his way to a table, upon which rested some of England's most prized and most expensive artefacts. A splint from Jack the Ripper's coffin (who, unknown to muggles, was actually a fairly powerful vampire), a large tooth from the mouth of Greyback (a well-known and well-feared werewolf throughout the wizarding community), a fang from Nakra (a particularly large acromantula, who lead many colonies in a rebellion in aid of equal rights for his species. Ironically, when equal rights were introduced, he was killed by several wizards who suffered from arachnophobia while searching for prey on the streets of London. Subsequently, acromantula's returned to living in forests, out of the way of wizards.), and, one of five samples in the world, a vial of boggart blood, well sought after by dark wizards, as one drop drunk, accident or otherwise, would cause the victim to fall into an everlasting coma, forced to relive their greatest nightmares.

Wormtail made sure no-one had noticed him, be fore sweeping the gruesome tokens into a sack, disillusioning himself, and hurrying out onto the street, soon losing himself the throng of people, all shouting, talking, bargaining, and walking.

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Ron woke up with a start, eyes wide, open and alert, searching for something, anything that could have been out of place within his dormitory. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, cool salty water splashing onto his nose, dripping off the end. Ron knew something was wrong, but what was it? It was then that Ron suddenly noticed that the room was silent. The only sounds being produced were his own raggedy, broken breathes, and the const pounding of his heart inside his chest as he scrutinised every single detail of the room that was laid out before his eyes. The silence was the thing he was looking for, the thing out of place. He could hear nothing. Not the rain hammering on the windowpane from behind the shadowy curtains, not from the usually creaking floorboards, even Peeves, who normally caused mayhem in an attempt to wake up the entire castle, had been mercifully silenced.

Ron knew that dark, ancient, magic rituals were being performed, and that soon, everyone, muggles and wizards alike, would be in grave peril, whether they knew it or not. After about and hour or so, Ron finally managed to slip into a fretful, dreamless sleep, his mind clouded by dark visions of death, destruction, and despair. Unbeknownst to Ron, as of now, no wizard or witch within the walls of Hogwarts School was safe.

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A/N:Reveiws are welcomed, as this is my first fanfic. k? thanx!

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Day Turns To Night...


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